


Other Kinds of Shadows

by onetiredboy



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Also Juno Steel Being A Leetle Thirsty, Fluff, Juno Steel Realises Things TM, Just A Leetle, Other, Pining, Pining All Around Babey!, Set within Shadows of the Ship Part 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: Juno Steel walks the halls of the Carte Blanche late at night.. just... thinking about things...
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 26
Kudos: 183





	Other Kinds of Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> all i wanted was for juno or peter to get hurt so that we'd get the hurt/comfort goodness but they really made it happen offscreen huh... tragic.....

Juno walks the halls of the Carte Blanche. His comms is burning in his pocket and he itches to take it out and re-read the conversation he knows is open on the screen there.

The ship is cold. According to the Big Guy, most spaceships this class are. Something about not having the structure to allow for heating pipes – to be honest, Juno had faded out the second he’d realised his simple question was about to get a twenty-minute long answer. The point is, he’s wearing his fuzziest pair of socks (a pair bought for him by Rita, which means they do unfortunately have the words _Wife_ and _Material_ on them. He wears them more often than he’d like to admit) and sweatpants and a bright pink hoodie with a fuzzy hood, and he still wishes he’d brought the blanket from his bed.

He walks past Nureyev’s room. The door is open. That unnerves him. He knows Nureyev doesn’t keep many belongs, and those that he has have found secure enough homes already that a nosy member of the crew wouldn’t get more than some dust for their troubles, but…

It just feels weird. He feels protective of Nureyev, somehow. Is he allowed to feel that, still? Is that stupid desire to tuck away all of the loose ends Nureyev is more than capable of taking care of himself his to feel?

Juno closes the door to his bedroom. He decides it doesn’t have to mean anything. He’d do the same for anybody’s room.

Except he wouldn’t, is the problem.

Juno kicks his foot against the ground. Which leads to him stubbing a toe against one of the bolts on the metal panelling, which leads to several minutes of barely-hushed swearing and hopping around. He falls into a wall and then gives up, leaning against it.

“You’re a mess, Steel,” he mutters to himself.

He hasn’t answered the question that’s been obvious since he and Nureyev made up to each other – the question of what they are now, what they want from each other. He’s not sure he can.

On one hand, it’s different now – they’re different, and it’s impossible to ignore the way that has changed things. There’s no desperate rush to save the world, no mystery and intrigue element of having some smooth-talking stranger whisking him off of his feet. There’s no fantasy anymore of the pretty man stealing the heart of the handsome lady and the two of them eloping across the stars. This new thing, slower thing, relies entirely on the two of them being interesting enough people to each other to make it work. Are they capable, really, of something slower? Hell, is a relationship something Juno even wants? Is Peter even _someone_ Juno wants?

Juno scrubs his hand over his face and keeps walking.

On the other hand, it’s undeniable now – the way Peter still makes him feel, and it’s impossible to ignore the way that affects him. He only has to make Peter laugh, that stupid happy chuckle of his, and Juno is lit up from the inside out. He has to fight down a smile every time they lock eyes, and he’s been carefully trying to keep the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest down when they spend time together. But is the person Juno had feelings for back then still around? Is Nureyev even ready to give him a second chance? And is a relationship only a recipe for a relapse?

His comms burns a hole in his pocket. He should really go visit him. What would he even say?

“Come in.”

Juno sighs and opens the medbay door. There’s a lamp on beside Nureyev’s bed. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, his glasses slightly askew and his comms in one hand. Some hair is falling into his forehead. Juno tries not to look too hard at his leg. He closes the door behind him and walks closer.

“Hey,” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “How you, uh…. feeling?”

The corner of Nureyev’s mouth quirks up into a little smile. Juno hates it when he does that. That smile could mean so many things, but Juno only ever reads it as fond – loving, even, and it does unfair things to his romantic side.

Nureyev gestures to himself, and the slapdash cast on his leg, “Oh, Juno. You know how I feel about being restrained against my will.” It’s sarcastic, but the pause that comes next, followed by his amendment of, “In most contexts, anyway,” is worryingly not.

Juno squints, but Nureyev just lies his head back on his pillow and sighs. He doesn’t say anything else. He’s probably tired. Hell, Juno is too. He pulls up a chair and sits down beside his bed.

Neither of them talks for a bit.

Juno glances up at Nureyev but he’s still just looking at the ceiling. There’s something heavy in the air, in the implicit trust in the allowed silence.

When Nureyev speaks, his voice is soft, “Couldn’t sleep either, eh?”

He doesn’t like the distance between them. He can’t have conversations when he cant read a person’s face. Juno stands up from his chair to lean over him, look at him properly. “Had things on my mind.”

Nureyev raises an eyebrow, “Like?”

“You,” Juno says, without thinking. His heart almost falls out of his mouth, and he swallows it back down fast enough to say, “Like, how you are. If you’re okay. Y’know, I… uh. Was worried.”

Peter smiles. He raises a slender hand and his fingers close over Juno’s on the side of the bed, “That’s very sweet of you. I was thinking of you, too.”

His fingers pry Juno’s from the railing of the gurney to twist in-between his own. Juno waits the whole time for Nureyev to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, he says, “No reason to worry about me. I’m not the one with the broken leg.”

“Oh, that’s not what I was thinking about,” Nureyev says airily. His eyes close nonchalantly but the corner of his mouth does that chameleon-smile, that adapt-to-any-circumstance smile again.

Juno’s left with a dry mouth and a racing heart, his hand holding Nureyev’s, standing over him like a worry-sick lover. He wonders if he’s meant to take Nureyev’s bait. He must want him to ask, or say something, or—

Nureyev’s eyes open. He has gorgeous eyes, dark and alluring and shaped so prettily it makes something in Juno break in two.

“Juno,” he says, in his melted-honey voice.

“Yeah,” Juno says, and it comes out more like the sound of paper tearing but he thinks Nureyev knows why it does, if that damned tiny smile is any indication.

“Thank you for visiting. I like having you near me.”

This time, he takes the bait. Juno swallows over his dry throat and says, “Nureyev, I’ve been thinking…”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

Juno barely holds back from hitting him, but only because he’s already injured, “About us, I mean.”

Peter’s soft smile stretches a little further across his face, “As have I.”

“Yeah?” Juno’s voice cracks a little, “Cool. I kind of thought, maybe… I mean,” he takes a breath, “Look, Nureyev. I… I don’t know what you want. I’m not even sure what I want either. But… I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t—”

“Juno,” Nureyev soothes, and he pushes himself to sitting in the bed. Juno goes to make a fuss about him moving when he’s hurt, but Nureyev stops him with a hand on the side of his face.

Juno doesn’t breathe. Nureyev smiles, and he shows all of his sharp teeth, and if Juno had had any breath in him in the first place it would be stolen just from that.

“It’s okay,” he says, quietly, guiding their faces closer. “Come here.”

Kissing him is like… breaking from water into fresh air for the first time. He wants to gulp down the sensation greedily, helplessly, like he had no idea he was drowning until he realised how good fresh air tasted. Juno can’t help the little moan that leaves him – he pushes into him urgently, and Nureyev, fuck—Nureyev pushes back, cups the side of his face tighter and presses forward and slides his tongue along Juno’s bottom lip and Juno can’t help it, his whole body shudders against the side of the bed.

Nureyev smiles against him, but before Juno can properly think about that, his tongue is in his mouth and Juno is lost again, moaning gently and getting his hands around Nureyev’s waist. All he can think is damn this sickbay, damn Nureyev’s broken leg, because all he wants is him. All he wants is him. All he wants…

Juno stops walking down the halls of the Carte Blanche.

…Is him.

Juno slaps his palm to his face and just holds it there for a little bit. Then he laughs quietly, breathlessly, exasperatedly to himself.

Nothing like having a daydream-slash-fantasy about an imaginary conversation while wandering the halls of your home late at night to answer the question of what it is you want.

His face is hot. It’s a little bit embarrassment and a little bit a remnant of the imagined lust he’d been conjuring in the pit of his stomach.

Fuck. What does he do now?

He pulls his comms out of his pocket. It’s still open to the conversation.

_Juno: i’m sorry_

_Ransom: I’ve told you there’s no need to be, Juno. It’s not your fault._

_Juno: but it is. if i hadn’t spent that time bickering with vespa you never would’ve gotten your leg broken. i did that to you._

_Ransom: I hardly think you broke it yourself. You’re not to blame, and in either case, I’m fine now. That’s what matters._

_Ransom: Although perhaps this may serve as somewhat of a lesson…?_

_Juno: yeah. sorry._

_Ransom: :-(_

_Ransom: I can tell you’re still upset. Why don’t you come talk? I imagine I’ll be up most of the night anyway, as long as Vespa’s sedatives don’t knock me out cold._

That was a few hours ago. Juno hadn’t replied. He hadn’t known how to. He types now.

_Juno: i’m going to come say hi_

Nureyev’s comms register as online, or at least used recently – he’s pretty sure that’s what the little green light Rita told him about means. But after a few minutes, there’s still no response, so Juno texts again.

_Juno: everything alright?_

No answer.

_Juno: hey if you don’t want to talk you just have to let me know. i’m starting to get worried._

Five minutes later, with no response, but also no change in the little green light near his name, Juno swears. He tucks his comms away, decides to pass by his room for his blaster – _just_ in case… and head to the sickbay.

**Author's Note:**

> HOPE THAT WASNT TOO CONFUSING... wanted him to be daydreaming but also not have that obvious at the start...


End file.
